Shift
by Florence1
Summary: A call to a brutal crime scene leads to a dangerous game of cat and mouse, or is that cat and cat, or mouse and mouse. How do you deal with a dangerous enemy that's on your side? Will the team survive? Part 6 up
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: OK I had the idea for this before the episode 'Sharif Returns' was aired and although there are clear plot similarities I decided it was different enough to still go ahead and write this version. I hope you like it.

**Spoilers:** not really but as I said similarities in plot to 'Sharif Returns'

**Synopsis:** A sailor is found dead from horrific injuries and the impact on the NCIS team could be devastating.

**Disclaimer:** This story is written as an homage to the writers and creators of a series that I love in the hope that nobody minds.

**Shift**

Everything was so normal the team was almost working on automatic pilot. The body lay in the centre of the cabin floor and the room itself was a wreck. It was an unusually messy crime scene; they had seen worse, but not often. Whoever had killed this sailor had smashed the place to pieces before starting in on him, the chronology obvious because the broken edges of smashed porcelain and splintered furniture were splattered with blood.

Each of the Agents worked around the other, effortlessly recording and cataloging the brutal end of a life, the light banter belying the strong emotions of simultaneous pity and revulsion, that the scene evoked. It was a skill developed through long practice, an ability to detach from the emotion so that they could do their jobs. Somehow they had learned block out the brutality, or at least not react to it, and focus on the minutia of detail that would help them find who had done this. The goal of justice for the victim, of perhaps preventing this from happening again, was enough to keep that focus and allow the detachment. Although being with others who could do the same definitely helped.

It was Tony who first noticed Gibbs absence. "I've finished the sketches boss. Do you want me. . . ?" He turned to the spot where Gibbs had been, not sure why he hadn't noticed that he'd left. Gibbs had the sort of presence that left a vacuum when he departed, almost as if the space he had occupied was more empty than its surroundings because he had left it, but then he also had an ability to turn it on and off that probably defied several laws of science. He could arrive, and you wouldn't know he was there until he wanted you to, so Tony reasoned, he must have the ability to leave and make you think he was still there, except. . .when he left Tony usually noticed.

Tony glanced round a little self-consciously but neither Ziva nor McGee had noticed him start a conversation with empty space. He was relieved about that, no need for face saving excuses. He glanced around again. Where was Gibbs? For no apparent reason a cold icicle of fear stabbed in the pit of his stomach. He tried to rationalize it, but he couldn't. There was no reason that he should think anything was wrong, just because Gibbs had stepped outside and yet. . . He closed his sketchpad and slipped his pencil through the rings at the top, taking a step back towards the door as he did so. He was vaguely aware of Ducky's musings in the background.

"So my dear boy let's try to see what led to your unusually violent end." Ducky knelt down and began his examination. It wasn't unusual for him to be the last of the team to arrive. Notwithstanding navigation errors, sometimes his wasn't the sort of work you could just drop halfway through. Some jobs had to be finished, clearing away had to be done before he could head out into the field. "Oh my!"

Tony had taken another step towards the door before the loud exclamation drew his attention.

"Oh dear, now whatever would possess you to. . ?" Ducky addressed the corpse in his usual manner, as though he almost expected an answer.

"What you got Doc?" Tony interrupted, moving nearer to where the medical examiner knelt as he temporarily dismissed his unease at Gibbs' absence.

"Well," The Doctor turned and angled his head to look up at Tony as he spoke. "It appears that some, if not all of this young man's wounds were self inflicted."

Tony glanced at the maimed corpse, at the cuts, the blood, the large bloody knife that still lay on the floor. "Are you sure?" he asked, "because they look. . ." his attention drifted back to the doctor and he had his answer before continuing. "Of, course you're sure doc, I'm sorry. It's just. . .well what would possess a person. . . "

"Possession? Of course you could be right. Many ancient cultures believed that all illness, particularly mental ones, were the result of possession by some sort of demon or devil. In fact even in the bible there are descriptions. . "

"You think he did this to himself?" Ziva asked, joining the conversation and the semi-crouched huddle around the body.

Ducky glanced back down. "Well of course I can't be a hundred percent sure until I get the body back and carry out a full autopsy, but that would be my preliminary finding, yes." There was a moment's silence as he looked expectantly at Tony and Ziva in turn.

It was Tony who asked. "What?"

"Nothing," Ducky replied. "I was merely wondering, in Gibbs absence, which one of you was going to start hassling me for something more definite, and a time of death." He glanced around again. "Speaking of Gibbs, where is he? I'm sure that he was here when I arrived."

The comment finally alerted Tony to what was wrong, the reason why Gibbs lack of presence in the room suddenly made him feel uneasy. It was Ducky's arrival. Gibbs wouldn't have left without getting at least these preliminary comments from the medical examiner and, although it wouldn't have been out of character for him to go off and leave Tony, Ziva and McGee without a word, he would have said something to Ducky. Tony felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, his gut churning uneasily, but still it could be nothing. No need to worry the others. "He went outside," Tony stated with a confidence he didn't feel. "I'll go get him."

NCISNCIS

Tony wasn't sure how long he stood and watched Gibbs for, a few seconds, a few minutes? Time had that strange elastic quality that it always adopted when things weren't quite right. Now that Tony had his boss and mentor in view, his gut instinct was taking on the form more of fact than feeling. There was something wrong. Although if you'd asked him to say exactly what, he couldn't have given a coherent answer.

Gibbs had an air of agitation, of eraticism. His normal stoic demeanour replaced by something. . .something different. It occurred to Tony that he should probably try to find out what was wrong, but still he didn't move, not straight away, not until Gibbs started walking away from him. Then his mind screamed that he really needed to do something. He jogged forward in order to catch up. "Hey boss," he shouted, after him. "Ducky's looking. ." he was only a handful of steps behind now, ". .for you. . "now barely a stride. "He's got a preliminary. . ." he caught up, close enough to touch, debated reaching out. "rep. . ." the rest of the word was cut short as Gibbs whirled round in a blur of motion. The first blow caught his solar plexus, cutting off his air supply and causing him to gag. Then Gibbs' forearm and elbow slammed up into his nose, snapping his head back with its ferocity and Tony dropped senseless to the floor.

Gibbs watched him fall, barely breathing heavily from the violent assault. He stared at the crumpled form and then turned to walk slowly into the forest.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	2. Biohazard

**Chapter 2:- Biohazard**

Ducky finished his exam. "Mr. Palmer if it's not too much trouble do you think you could get the body bag now?"

Palmer broke off his own study of the corpse to answer his boss and mentor. "Y. . .yes Dr, Mallard, right away." He stood awkwardly almost tripping backwards in his eagerness to please. This only added embarrassment to his already overactive nerves, increasing the likelihood of further awkwardness and embarrassed reaction, a vicious downward spiral that characterised his interactions with the world. His foot skidded on some blood, and his arms flailed about as he sought to rebalance himself, making him look like the pratfall character in a 60s sitcom.

Ducky looked up. "Perhaps if you took things a little more steadily Mr. Palmer we could all avoid having to view your interpretations of modern dance," he delivered dryly "You have no doubt heard of the old adage, more haste, less speed. It is something I suggest that you adhere to."

"Yes Doctor," Palmer said, taking a deep breath to calm himself from the adrenaline rush of the near fall.

"Well, go on," Ducky prompted when Palmer did not begin to move. He gained a momentary blank look from his assistant and wondered, not for the first time, if he had made a mistake in employing one so young, keen and nervous. He'd never had these problems with Gerald. Then again, everyone had to learn, if no one had ever taken a chance on him in his youth. . . . . He sighed patiently. "The body bag," he stated.

As though he'd forgotten his purpose completely, largely because he had, Palmer gave a small start at the reminder. "Yes Dr. Mallard, of course." he turned and almost slipped again as he headed out of the door.

With a much heavier sigh, Ducky pushed himself to his feet. Had he gone a little far down the path of instilling fear in his subordinate? It certainly had its advantages in training terms, but it also had its drawbacks, especially with someone already a little nervous like Palmer, maybe he should start cutting him a little more slack. . . He straightened his glasses on his nose, his attention caught by McGee, who was finishing the last of his sketches. He had gone from science geek to highly competent agent in less than two years thanks to Gibbs less than gentle handling. Ducky focused back on the door. He just wished Palmer would hurry up and get over the 'nerves make me clumsy stage.'

There was nothing clumsy, however, about the reappearance of his assistant. He looked entirely focused and more than a little panicked. "Dr. Mallard!" It was clear something was seriously wrong. "It's Agent Dinozzo, he's hurt."

Ducky made it to the door just behind Ziva who pushed past Palmer gun drawn. She moved it in a wide arc, rapidly scanning the area, before focusing on Tony's prone form, some forty feet from the cabin door. He was on his back, blood clearly visible on his face even from this distance.

Palmer swallowed nervously; it hadn't occurred to him until he saw Ziva's reaction that whoever had hurt Tony might still be out there, that he might be in danger. It took him a second to realise that Ducky was speaking to him.

"Mr. Palmer get my bag,"

"Yes Doctor," he snapped his answer back in almost military form, perhaps responding to the precision movements of the agents as McGee joined Ziva and Ducky and the three moved cautiously forward in formation. The two agents were warily scanning for any further sign of attack, whilst the doctor's attention was focused entirely on Tony, looking for signs of life. They kept up the rapid crab like movement until they reached Tony's side.

Ducky knelt down, and checked for a pulse, breathing a short sigh of relief when he felt it clear and strong. "He's alive," he stated, not entirely sure that he wouldn't have said it aloud even if he hadn't had an audience. The two agents visibly released a little tension from their shoulders at the news. He then began to make a check for injuries. Ziva and McGee continuing to cover him, their weapons still held at chest height, even though they had been out in the open now long enough for anyone who wished them harm to have taken their shot, neither agent could relax, not until they knew what had happened to Tony.

"Anthony?. . .Anthony. . .Can you hear me?" Ducky spoke loudly and clearly, hoping for some response as he continued his examination, nothing, damn, come on Anthony.

"How is he doctor," Ziva asked, sparing a concerned glance down before returning to her sweeps for danger.

"Possible concussion, probable broken nose and I don't like the sound of his breathing," Ducky answered. "Can one of you help me get him a little more upright?"

Ziva and McGee made brief eye contact communicating without words. Ziva gave a sharp but slight nod.

McGee lowered his weapon, dropping to his knees as he waited for Ducky's instructions.

"If you could raise his head," Ducky said pulling his stethoscope and some wipes from his bag." Try to sit him up, against you."

McGee nodded. Sitting behind Tony he lifted his head and shuffled in behind him until Tony's back was resting against his chest. Meanwhile Ducky began to clear away the blood from around Tony's mouth and nose, still talking to him, calling his name, or at least the long form of it, periodically as he worked.

There was little reaction at first but then Tony began to cough, struggling to clear his throat of blood and to breathe against the bruised ribcage. Reality returned slowly, fuzzily, painfully. Everything seemed to hurt.

Someone was hurting him, fighting him. He tried to strike back but he was being held, restrained. He struggled against the hands that held him. He needed to fight back needed to escape, needed to. . .

"Anthony!!"

The tone was sharp, the voice familiar, friend not foe. He relaxed a little back into the arms that held him, trying to focus fuzzy eyes, to interpret his surroundings. "Ducky?" he asked shakily.

"Yes, Anthony, just relax and try to take deep breaths."

Ducky's features were forming in his vision but they were still a little fuzzy round the edges. Still, he could hear the relieved smile in the doctor's words. Now if only he could remember. . ."What happened?" he asked, still trying to orient himself and take inventory of his injuries. Pain in the middle of his chest, and his nose and upper jaw hurt like hell; clearly he'd been in some sort of fight. What did the other guy. . .

"Well we were hoping to ask you. . . ."

Tony's eyes widened suddenly "Gibbs!!" the name was almost shouted, adrenaline flooded Tony's system as his memory returned. He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet, gaining startled reactions from both McGee, who had been holding his limp form only moments earlier, and Ducky, who had to scramble backwards a little to get out of the way as his patient moved far more rapidly than his awakening consciousness should allow. McGee and Ducky both stood, reaching to steady Tony as he scanned the clearing, looking at the tree line.

Tony's head was spinning from the sudden movement, but he was too focused on looking for Gibbs to notice the hands that grabbed him and stopped him from falling straight back down on his ass. Too focused on a single objective to really sort through the thoughts and memories. It was more a feeling driving him than anything that could be linked to a coherent thought process. Gibbs was in danger. He felt that, knew that, locating him was his only priority.

He started to turn, finally noticing the hands gripping his arms steadying him, Ducky on one side, McGee on the other. He looked at each arm in turn, gently shaking off the help before taking another slow turn, another scan of the tree line. Nothing, nothing but the cabin, the trucks, the team. . . Not exactly nothing but no Gibbs and that was as good as.

Finally he allowed something other than that search imperative to register. Those around him were full of questions.

"So where is Special Agent Gibbs?" from Ducky.

"Has he gone after those who did this?" from Ziva.

"Why hasn't he called for backup?" from McGee.

If Tony had had time to think he might have found it amusing that no one's thinking was even vaguely close to the truth of the situation, but he didn't have that luxury. He only had time to react and react he did. He didn't answer any of their questions; instead he started giving orders. "Ducky, you need to seal the scene, level 1 biohazard, no one in or out without clearance and a suit. McGee get on to Abby see if she can track Gibbs cell. Ziva, contact Jen. . . "He caught himself, "Director Shepard, tell her we need a full marine S & R team out here as soon as possible and Palmer." It was his first pause as he'd moved around the semi-circle reeling off jobs. He pinched the bridge of his bruised nose. "See if you can find me some Tylenol."

He was moving before anyone had time to properly protest, heading for the van with a long if slightly unsteady stride.

Ducky, McGee and Ziva exchanged glances before rapidly following. Tony was at the van before anyone managed to catch up with him enough to speak to him. All were puzzled by his suddenly very Gibbs like persona, not to mention the disappearance of their boss. Although it wasn't lost on any of them how connected the two were likely to be.

"Special Agent Dinozzo," somehow Ducky felt that this persona required the title. "Not that I'm questioning your orders but would you care to tell us why we're doing what we're doing. It might help, and what has happened to Gibbs?"

On the walk to the van Tony had allowed his thoughts to catch up with his actions. Somehow he knew what had happened, knew what he had to do. In the split second of time that passed between Gibbs first blow and the second, he had put it all together, but he wasn't quite ready to explain it yet. He started pulling the kit he would need forward, ignoring the questions because his head was still too fuzzy to manage more than one process at a time, and he needed to be ready, there was so much to do, so much that he had to do. God his head hurt not to mention his face and his chest and. . .

Ducky shared another frustrated look with the others as they watched Tony struggle to unbuckle his pack then discard various items from it. He placed his hand gently on the younger man's arm. "Tony," he spoke softly but firmly the concern evident, the fact that he had used the contraction of the agent's name lost on none of them. He was worried.

Tony stopped his frantic slightly uncoordinated movements and looked down at the hand on his arm. He met Ducky's gaze briefly before looking round him again. Everyone shared the same concerned expression and no one had moved to follow his instructions, one of the disadvantages of not being Gibbs. His instructions they would have followed whether they understood the reasons or not. He gave a sigh as he turned to sit on the tailgate of the truck. They really didn't have time for this. Gibbs didn't have time for this.

"Ok, to answer your questions, Gibbs is somewhere out there." He gestured vaguely at the tree line. "He hasn't gone after who did this." He pointed at his face. "He is who did this, and we need to find him before he hurts anyone else, or. . ." His mind flashed to the bloodied corpse that had apparently torn himself apart, and he couldn't quite bring himself to complete the thought.

Ducky looked back and forth between Tony and the cabin catching up with Tony's reasoning. He nodded, "I'll get the alert called in and then suit up. We have two hazmat suits on the truck." He looked down thinking for a moment. "But it's probably not airborne." He tapped his finger thoughtfully on his chin, looking once more around the group. "We all entered at the same time so we would all be displaying symptoms. We'll just have to be careful what we touch."

Tony nodded, "I think Gibbs had some sort of cut on his hand, cut clean through his glove. It was the last thing I saw before the lights went out." He began to fumble with his buttons, looking round until he spotted "Palmer, give me your shirt."

Palmer looked a little shocked. "What? You. . ?" He looked to Dr. Mallard as Tony continued the action to remove his own.

"I think Agent Dinozzo would like you to take off your shirt and give it to him." Ducky clarified what didn't need clarifying. The 'what' wasn't in dispute, it was the why, both why did he need to and why should he?

"Come on Palmer we don't got all day and you'll be too hot in that hazmat suit anyway." Tony cajoled. He didn't fancy running through the forest shirtless and he knew damn well that's where he was going next.

Palmer looked once more to Ducky who nodded his acquiescence; reluctantly he began undoing his shirt. There were days when it sucked being the bottom of the food chain in an organization. No, skip that, it pretty much always sucked, not that that meant he'd change it for the world. He knew that however much he suffered it was worth it to work with the people he was working with.

Tony had finished stripping his own shirt off and handed it to Ducky. "Get Abby to check the blood stains out. I'm pretty sure it's not all mine."

He turned and accepted the shirt from Palmer. "Thanks," he said giving the younger man a genuine smile. He scanned the others as he started pulling on the shirt. "So, McGee I need you to. . ."

"I'm on it," McGee replied already pulling out his cell.

And then it was like everyone had come out of some shocked state of lethargy. The whole team swinging back into action, they moved slightly apart as they made their calls. Palmer already zipping his windbreaker back on as he headed for the medical examiner's truck. Tony gratified at the efficiency of those he worked with, there was no need to repeat the instructions he had given earlier, was about to turn and continue arranging his pack when a wave of nausea hit him. He stumbled backwards a couple of paces to rest on the van, breathing deeply as he waited for it to pass. Fortunately the others were too preoccupied to notice and by the time they joined him again. He was standing, sorting the items he thought he would need.

"Marine Search and Rescue are on their way," Ziva reported, coming up on his left. "And Director Shepard would like to talk to you."

Tony hesitated before taking the phone, trying hard to come up with a convincing reason why he couldn't answer it, but he knew that he didn't have one, knew that he would just be putting off the inevitable, still the temptation to 'accidentally' fumble it to the floor whilst disconnecting the call was very tempting. "Director," he answered smoothly, meeting Ziva's gaze as she watched him, concern still evident in her expression.

"Gibbs attacked you and then disappeared into the forest?" Jenny asked pointedly.

Tony understood the need for the question, the need for confirmation from him. It wasn't that the director doubted Ziva, more that she doubted reality, because there was no way that Gibbs would. . ."Yes," he confirmed. "He had a cut on his hand. . ."

"And you think he's been exposed to some sort of drug?"

"It's the only thing that makes any sense." Not that anything made any sense in a world where Gibbs wasn't his anchor. This was a whole new way of Gibbs relying on him, and he didn't like it, didn't like it at all. "According to Ducky there are signs that our dead sailor inflicted his own injuries." He swallowed, turned away from Ziva's intense gaze as his eyes closed and he tried to banish the gory images from his mind.

"You think he was also under the influence of this drug?"

Tony could hear the concern growing in her voice, the same concern that was churning his intestines round into a knotted painful mess. "I do," he stated. He knew that he was making some gargantuan assumptions here, knew that he had virtually no evidence to back up his theory. He also somehow knew that he was right.

"I'm on my way down." Jenny said succinctly and the line went dead.

Tony handed the cell back to Ziva and picked up his pack.

"Surely you're not thinking of going after him yourself?" Ziva asked the question despite his obvious preparations.

Tony scanned the tree line again before looking back at her. "You think I'm going to leave some nameless, faceless marines to find him when I'm right here?" Sure he'd called them, he'd had to call them because he couldn't risk Gibbs life to his sole efforts, but that didn't mean he was going to trust them to do the job, his job. It was his responsibility to watch Gibbs back, and so while he could he was going to do what he could.

"I wouldn't let you hear him talking about the marines like that if I were you." Ducky stated.

Tony shook his head and gave something close to a smile as he turned to look at the medical examiner. "I'm not that stupid," he replied, welcoming the momentary break in tension.

Ducky tilted his head slightly. "You are if you're thinking of following him. You're in no condition to be running around the woods. You lost consciousness for several minutes and there's clear evidence. . ."

"I'll be fine doc," Tony said stubbornly.

Ducky shook his head in denial of the statement; they both knew that that wasn't true. "You should go to hospital, get properly checked out," Ducky already knew the appeal was useless but he tried anyway. "I've called for an ambulance it should be here soon."

Tony shook his head, "Not until I've found Gibbs." He pinned Ducky with his gaze. "He needs us."

The quiet statement whilst not enough to calm Ducky's concerns was enough to stop his arguments. Tony would go after Gibbs no matter what. Whatever else Tony was he was as loyal as Hell, and nothing was going to prevent him from staying to search for his boss, not even his own injuries. Ducky nodded. "We'll do our best to identify whatever it is that's responsible." He turned to head for his truck.

"Ducky," the medical examiner turned. "I need one more thing. I need you to give me a needle loaded with enough anesthetic to take him down."

"But we don't know how it will interact with the drug that's already in his system."

Tony nodded. "I'll only use it as a last resort," he stated, only if he had to, only if there was no other way of trying to save his life.

Ducky gave a slow blink of understanding. Tony knew the risks and was asking anyway. "I'll get you what you need."

Tony watched Ducky walk away, a weariness in his step that hadn't been there earlier. It was the rapid movement to one side that finally drew his eye. "McGee, you got something?"

McGee's expression alerted everyone to the fact that it was not good news before he had a chance to speak. "Abby pinpointed Gibbs cell," he stated, holding it up for inspection. "It was on the ground over there." He gestured at some long grass to one side of the cabin.

Tony did his best not to swear, at least not out loud, in his head there were some very loud expletives in both Italian and English, including a few choice ones that he was sure his mother had never known he knew. On the outside he maintained a calm professionalism. He gritted his teeth and almost cursed again at how much it hurt his face. "Ziva, you're with me. McGee stay here and coordinate the rescue teams when they arrive."

If McGee had been about to protest it was cut off as Tony approached a little closer. "Be sure to emphasise that they are to use non-lethal force to take him down, no matter how hostile his actions may appear. Do you think you can do that?"

McGee nodded. He wanted to go along as well but he realized that Tony had just given him an equally important task. The last thing they needed was some over zealous marine shooting Gibbs while he was under the influence of whatever he was under the influence of. "I'll make sure they know," he stated.

Tony waited just long enough for Ziva to pick up her own pack before turning to follow the slight indentations in the grass that he'd noted earlier. His eyes picked up the tree line again.

Hold on Gibbs we're coming to find you.


	3. All Hell Breaks Loose

**Chapter 3 :- All Hell Breaks Loose.**

Tony stood for a moment, his fingers reaching up to straighten the recently broken small branch, only slightly gratified that instinct had brought him the right way, so far. They were ten meters or so into the cover of the trees. He had a suspicion that things wouldn't be so easy from here on in. "So Ziva, Moussad ever send you to tracking school?"

"I did a two week intensive course," she confirmed. "Of course the ground was much dryer, my country's climate is much more like your Arizona, or California"

Tony turned, feigning surprise. He was long past letting anything about the former Moussad agent really surprise him, if it ever had, but it was fun baiting her. "You did it in Israel? Do they even have forests there?"

Ziva's eyes narrowed as she studied him briefly, trying to decide if his ignorance was real, which sadly was true of many who failed to look past the news reports before forming an opinion of what a place was like. Giving a slight sigh she went for the explanation because there was always a chance with Tony that the ignorance was real. "Just because CNN concentrate on the Desert regions where there is fighting do not be fooled into thinking that is all my country has to offer. There are. . ." at that point Tony's slight grin gave him away. Her eyes narrowed as she pushed past him, studying the ground.

There was silence for a few moments as both agents looked for further signs of Gibbs' passage. He had come past this point but where had he gone next?

Ziva watched Tony crouch down to check something, shaking his head he pushed himself to standing again, false alarm. She went back to studying the ground herself but not without noticing the slight wobble as he stood. "How about you?" she asked. "Did ever train to track outside of the city?"

"Weekend course for me," Tony stated, "Just enough to cover the basics." He let his eyes wonder forwards, scanning further ahead. "Good enough if the ground is soft and the person you're following wants to be found."

"It has not rained here for several days," Ziva stated.

"That's nix on the soft ground then."

Ziva turned to meet his gaze. "Then let us hope that Gibbs is not taking too much time to cover his tracks."

Tony gave a slight nod. He'd strode in here with purpose, his need to find Gibbs, a driving force that did not allow any excuses or doubts. Unfortunately it was going to take more than will alone to find him in the miles of woodland that stretched out in front of them. Gibbs had a good head start, the terrain was rough and worse if Tony's theories about a drug were right they were on the clock, counting down to when Gibbs would. . .

"There," Ziva pointed as she spotted a disturbance in the soil. She moved closer, just able make out a partial shoe print. It was enough to give direction. "This way," she pointed, moving off quickly on a path to the left and slightly uphill.

Tony followed her, slowing briefly to study the partial print, marvelling that she'd spotted it at all, a slightly softer patch in otherwise hard ground. He looked up, she was already pulling away and he hustled after her.

NCISNCIS

Ducky stood and watched long after the two agents had disappeared from view. He understood Tony's motivations perfectly, even his impetuousness. In fact, if he'd been a few years younger he would have been abandoning his other responsibilities and heading after his friend himself, but that didn't mean he agreed with the younger agents' actions. He gave a slight shake to his head. He'd thought Tony's brush with the plague coupled with the loss of Kate, the memory of which was enough to bring an uncomfortable stab of pain even now, would have been enough to convince Tony of his own vulnerability, his own mortality, but no, dammit, he was still too reckless.

He was definitely in no condition to be mounting a search for a potentially hostile Gibbs.

He shook his head again. Tony wasn't going to change, not with Gibbs as his role model. He gave a sigh, determining to keep the ambulance crew standing by just in case.

He was wondering if he'd ever been as bad, it was a brief speculation because he knew that the answer was yes, when he realised that someone had been trying to get his attention.

"Dr. Mallard?"

Ducky turned trying not to acknowledge the fact that he had been lost in thought. "Yes Mr. Palmer, what can I do for you?"

The younger man already had most of his own bulky hazmat suit in place, including the separate air supply, he was just lacking the helmet and gloves, both of which he would need help with to secure in place. He was holding the second suit in his arms.

"I. . .er. . I brought your suit," he stated, somewhat superfluously.

"Very well," Ducky gave the young man a slight smile, "Let's get this on and see what else we can discern about our friend inside."

NCISNCIS

Ziva had picked up the pace; there were just enough patches of the less well-drained ground to allow for footprints to keep them on track, and for her to determine that Gibbs was moving quickly. The stride pattern, where she could make it out, indicated running rather than walking, so their only hope of catching up was to pick up their pace as well.

They'd been jogging forward for around ten minutes when Tony finally began admitting to himself that there was a problem. His vision was blurring intermittently and he was stumbling far too often, catching his feet on tree roots and uneven bumps that he normally would have cleared easily. Not to mention the killer headache that was beating a rhythm that matched the pounding of his feet on the ground.

He caught his foot again and fell forwards, grabbing the nearest tree trunk just to stay upright, the rough bark biting into the skin of his palms. He held on to it as he drew in several deep calming breaths to quell the effects of the adrenaline that had spiked through his system. He'd come close to ending in an undignified heap on the ground and his already battered body was responding accordingly.

"Maybe we should go back," Ziva suggested, surprising him by her closeness, annoying him that she'd actually noticed his weakness, frustrating him that she'd had to stop her trail of Gibbs because of him, worrying him because he was actually too shaky to have noticed her approach or to give a reply straight away.

He drew in another deep breath, and opened eyes that he hadn't even realised had closed.

Damn she was concerned, worse she probably needed to be.

He pushed himself upright, forced himself to calm down. They both should be focussed on helping Gibbs not him. He allowed the expletives to echo around his brain. They'd made such good progress but Ziva couldn't go on alone, and Ducky had been right, he was just a liability. He should have listened, should have. . .

"We can mark this trail," Ziva stated, "It will give the search and rescue teams a much better start than if we had done nothing."

"I look that bad, huh?" Tony asked, grateful at her attempts to make him feel better, but she clearly didn't think that going on was an option. He knew that, trouble was he didn't want to know that.

"Let us just say that it would be better if the marines only had one person to rescue." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "After I take you back I could. . . ."

Tony interrupted her with a shake of his head, not missing the fact that she hadn't even suggested continuing alone from this point. If he looked bad enough for her not to trust him to make it back. . . "The S and R team will be here soon you can go out again with them."

He looked down the trail again, a stab of irrational guilt holding his gaze there. Gibbs could be close by, maybe if he gave himself a few more minutes? He hated the idea of giving up, hated the idea of returning without Gibbs. They were already closer to him than anyone else and he was damn sure that if the situations were reversed Gibbs wouldn't give up on searching for him. 'Suck it up Dinozzo,' he told himself.

Ziva did not like Tony's almost green pallor, nor the cogs she could almost see whirling in his brain. Somehow she knew he was talking himself into continuing, despite all the evidence that that was not a good idea. Then again it hadn't been any better of an idea for him to set out in the first place. Still, she understood his loyalty, understood the need to find Gibbs, the potential urgency. Tony wouldn't even consider his own injuries until, like now, they physically stopped him. She knew she would do the same, just as surely as she knew the point at which he made the decision to continue. "Tony, we need to go back."

He met her gaze, since when had she been a mind reader? "We could be close to him," he argued.

"And he could be a mile ahead of us," she countered.

"Gibbs wouldn't give up."

"And if Gibbs were here he would take one look at you and send you back."

Tony looked down at the ground and muttered something.

"I'm sorry I did not catch that?"

Tony looked up at her, pushing away from the tree he had been leaning on. "I said I hate it when you're right." He set off back toward the cabin.

NCISNCIS

Jenny could just about make out the two black dots of the marine helicopters on a convergent course with her own. She had spoken to the pilot, the twenty strong, search and rescue force would arrive a couple of minutes behind her. She now got a patch through to McGee, ostensibly to update him on their ETA so he could be ready, but really because her anxiety levels were running too high for her to just sit and enjoy the ride.

"Agent McGee, we'll be with you in around five minutes, anything you can tell me?"

"Tony and Ziva set off after Gibbs about fifteen minutes ago, they haven't checked in yet. Dr Mallard and Mr. Palmer have just finished suiting up, they're going to go back into the cabin and . . .what the. . ." the sound of an explosion blasted through the earpiece causing Jenny to jump, pulling the headset away from her ears but not quite pulling it off because she needed to know what the hell was going on.

The helicopter gave a slight dip, as the pilot momentarily lost concentration, shocked by the same loud sound through the headset and the slightly later echo that reached them from the ground ahead, along with the orange flash and plume of smoke.

NCISNCIS

McGee had turned to watch Palmer and Ducky as they headed for the cabin door; Palmer was just ahead.

The whoosh had been slightly surreal, the impact of the small rocket, barely registering in his brain for what it was before the searing heat and moving air was throwing him backwards, the front facing of the cabin blasting into a million splinters of wood and glass, billowing smoke blocking his view of the two closer men. All he was sure of was that they went down as well. He was on the ground his arms automatically wrapped protectively about his head before his mind caught up. He had heard that whooshing sound before, launched from a handheld rocket launcher. Tony could probably have identified the exact type. All McGee knew was that it meant they were under attack. He looked up raising his head from the ground. He could just about make out Director Shepard's voice through the ringing in his ears, she was calling his name, he glanced around, finally locating the radio that had been thrown clear of his hand when he fell. He pushed himself up a few more inches intending to reach for it, that was when he heard another whoosh and he threw himself down again.

NCISNCIS

The impact and explosion stopped both Tony and Ziva in their tracks. They had been moving at a slower pace than their jog out, in deference to Tony's still shaky state. He was in front, Ziva slightly behind where she could keep an eye on him. He turned to look at her. "What the Hell. . ?" But he knew what, he just wasn't sure of the answer to any of the other myriad of questions that flooded his brain into overload.

"It came from the direction of the cabin," Ziva stated, the fear clearly showing in her tone.

Neither of them needed any more, they turned and as one continued their trek at a run. Injured or not, their friends were under attack. McGee, Ducky and Palmer were back there.

Ziva moved into the lead, deliberately. She wanted to be in control of their pace, Tony wasn't really in any condition to be doing this, but dammit! They had to get back, do what they could to help and Gibbs was still out there. She flinched slightly at the second impact. What the Hell was going on?

She didn't notice the drop off in the ground until they were almost on top of it, a ten-foot drop to a stream. The sides were rough, steep and covered in grass, bushes and small trees dotted periodically along it. It blocked their most direct route back to the cabin, somewhere they had deviated from the path they had set out on. Now they had no choice. They would have to follow the stream's path in order to keep heading in the right direction. She turned to Tony who had come to a halt behind her as she had looked for a safe way down and across. He was gratefully pulling air into his lungs against the burning in his chest.

She was about to speak when a third explosion distracted her, both of them flinching again. "This way," she stated, "and stay away from the edge."

Tony looked down at the drop and nodded his agreement, watching as Ziva set off again ahead of him. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, as though it would somehow clear the blurry vision, pulled in another deep breath and headed off after her.

Ziva kept away from the edge as best she could, taking the route through the trees off to the left, but low hung branches and bushes forced her to skirt closer than she would have liked. Still, if Tony had followed her he would have been safe, even when he fell, he would have been safe.

Tony had closed his eyes just for a moment, closing them against the pounding headache, scrubbing his hand across his face damp with sweat, hoping to rub the aching and the bleariness from his eyes. It hadn't been long enough to take a pace, hadn't been long enough to deviate right, too close to the edge of the drop-off. Surely hadn't been long enough for the trip to take him down and down and down. The sensation of falling, falling for far too long caused him to cry out, the impact caused a grunt of pain, a whiting of vision, a reluctance to even breathe.

"Tony!" Ziva shouted frantically as she turned to watch a slow motion view of his fall. At least that was what it seemed like, as though the world was a recording and a button had been pressed so that you could follow the action in excruciating, agonising detail. She was frozen on the spot just watching, and then she was running forwards, frantically trying to scout out a safe route down, a way to get to him without hurting herself, because that couldn't happen. She let out several Yiddish curses. Another explosion vibrated the ground as she executed a controlled slide down the steep bank. "Tony," she cried again as she skidded to his side, almost crawling over him and feeling for a pulse with a single move, because she couldn't wait for other signs to know if he was alive.

She didn't have time to acknowledge the relief as she felt a steady pulse. The grip that tightened around her own neck stretched the muscles and cut of her air supply. She struggled frantically as she was dragged upwards, trying counter manoeuvres that were anticipated and so didn't work. She felt the pressure of the stranglehold increasing, the hands and arm moving to a position where they could snap her neck. She barely had time for the ice cold fear to slide down her spine, whoever had her could kill her with a quick tug. The edges of her vision greyed as the lack of oxygen started shutting things down, her struggles dying, as her muscles could no longer respond. The last thing she heard was Tony's voice.

"Gibbs NO!"


	4. Enemies All Around

Author's note- thanks for all of the wonderful feedback- every word is appreciated. Hope you enjoy the next instalment:- J

**Chapter 4:- Enemies All Around**

Tony had opened his eyes to watch in horror as Ziva was hauled up and dragged back away from him by Gibbs, his arm around her throat in a classic chokehold. He'd tried to push himself up tried to stop him, but pain exploded through his left arm as he tried to move. He gripped it, curled into it to try to ride out the pain but he didn't have time for this didn't have time for himself. He had to try to stop. . . "Gibbs NO!" the cry was torn from his throat as he realised that Gibbs was about to snap her neck. This was beyond a nightmare, he had to stop it and he tried to push himself up again, fighting the pain as tears streamed from his eyes, frustration and need drove him upwards, but he couldn't coordinate, wouldn't reach them in time. "Gibbs!" he cried again, anguish and pain colouring the word.

Gibbs had just enough control to stop the manoeuvre that would have snapped the young woman's neck. A fraction of a second later, a few more pounds of pressure and it would have been too late. He almost did it anyway, almost finished what he'd started, but whoever was calling him, telling him to stop, knew his name and that was enough to make him hesitate, to make him shift his arm back into the stranglehold. He held on long enough after she'd gone limp to ensure a lengthy sleep or worse when he let go then he let her slide to the ground.

Not much was making sense at the moment, but Gibbs knew he must have been injured himself, because he didn't have any clear memories as to how he got here or where here even was, but his anxiety levels told him he was in danger, and so his training had taken over. In enemy territory his priority was to evade capture, to make it home alive, and logic had told him that was where he must be, he wouldn't be this scared, this confused if he were anywhere else, and so he'd run. Run hard and fast, doubled back, tried to confuse his trail in case anyone followed him. Whispers in his mind, ghosts of memories of guns and explosions and danger kept him moving. Shadows moved on the edge of his vision but disappeared when he turned to look. Nothing made sense apart from the need to survive.

Then came the explosions, familiar sounds of war and he finally knew where he was, memories sliding into place for Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He'd seen the enemy dressed in dark colours, seen his opportunity to take them out, to get them before they got him and so he'd taken. . . but now. . .he stared down at the young woman on the ground, black hair framing her olive skin, definitely middle Eastern extraction.

"Gibbs?"

He turned to look at the young man who'd called out to him, pulling his gun and aiming squarely at his chest. Not ideal, the sound of a shot could draw too much attention, which was why he'd gone for the silent approach, but he still had no idea if this man was his enemy or not, so it was best to take no chances. Somehow the man had made it to his knees but the slight swaying indicated he was unlikely to make it further. His left arm was held protectively against his chest his other cradling it and it was clear he was struggling not to react to the pain. Gibbs squared his stance, studying him further. "How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously.

The question shouldn't have had shock value, not after everything that had happened in the last hour, but it still hit like a punch in the gut and Tony struggled to deal with a world that felt like it was literally and metaphorically spinning on its head around him. The pain nagged at his thoughts as he struggled to frame an answer. He needed to remain truthful but suitably vague. Gibbs was clearly at the very least having memory problems. "I. . .we. . .work together," he stated hesitantly. "You're my boss."

Gibbs studied him some more, studied the dark clothing. "You don't look like a marine."

'Marine' dammit that meant Gibbs was somewhere in the past- his past. Tony forced his mind to work; it was fuzzy, pain pounded, but he needed to win Gibbs' trust. He used his good arm to gesture to Gibbs own clothing. "Hardly in uniform yourself, sir."

Gibbs took a moment to look down at his own dusty clothing, surprised that he hadn't noticed earlier, white shirt, dark brown pants, brown jacket, not a uniform. He looked back at the man on the ground, sighting him along the gun. "You're not a marine," he stated. "You're right about changing the clothes but not the hair."

Damn, even a crazed amnesiac Gibbs was observant. Tony knew he had to come up with something fast. "I'm on secondment to your unit," he replied quickly, trying not to react to another violent stab of pain from his arm. He failed and had to curl a little more around the injured limb. He gave a slight gasp before continuing. "Deep cover, you're my contact." He paused for just the right amount of time before asking. "Don't you remember?"

Gibbs shook his head. No he didn't remember, didn't remember anything, but one thing was clear, the man in front of him posed no threat at the moment. He lowered his weapon and scoured the ground around him, before heading to pick up some driftwood discarded by the fast flowing stream of water, probably when it was in flood. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants for safety and picked the best of the pieces of wood before moving back towards the injured man. "Sit down," he commanded. "I need to get a look at your arm."

Relieved that he had gained at least enough of the trust that he needed for the gun to have gone, Tony did his best to follow the instruction, awkwardly dropping back to a sitting position without using his good arm which still cradled the broken one. He allowed Gibbs to move in close, to gently extend and then feel along the broken limb.

Tony searched desperately to find something to take his mind off the pain, and there it was, Ziva's prone form. It was more than enough; his concerns suddenly had only one focus, climbing out from the morass of anxieties about the rest of his friends. "Is she. . ." he nodded towards her. "What did. . .? Will she be. . .?"

Gibbs spared a glance back, then looked at Tony again noting the concern. "What is she to you?" he asked, the suspicion returning.

"She was working with us," Tony stated deliberately vague. He met Gibbs' gaze. "So I need to know, will she be OK?"

"She'll wake up in half an hour or so with a bad headache," Gibbs stated, returning his concentration to the injured limb. "It's a bad break, needs to be set."

Tony was about to reply with a suggestion about Gibbs helping him to find the nearest medic when Gibbs gripped his bicep and wrist firmly and pulled hard, twisting as he moved. The pain whited everything in Tony's brain and he slumped back unconscious to the ground.

NCISNCIS

"Why are we changing direction," Jenny almost shouted into the headset although she knew that the volume was unnecessary. "That's my people down there and they're in trouble"

"I know that Ma'am," the pilot responded, "but we won't be much use to them if we crash, and that hardware has more than enough firepower to take us down. We need to land. You'll have to go in the rest of the way by road."

Jenny wanted to order him to ignore the risks and fly in anyway, but Director Shepard knew the truth of his words, more casualties wouldn't help anyone. "OK, but we need to liase with the Marine. . ."

"We already have common set down coordinates, land vehicles will be meeting us there."

There was something to be said for military efficiency, all Jenny could do now was sit back and wait and worry.

NCISNCIS

McGee was a writer and up until this point he'd never quite understood it when military men had told him that combat was impossible to describe. The mix of emotions, the depth of the fear, the loudness of the explosions, the searing heat, the contrast of quiet when the shelling stopped. It wasn't that you couldn't pay lip service to these descriptions, you could, but if you'd never been there then you could never understand, because descriptions, however good, could not be accompanied by the pump of adrenaline, which coloured everything you thought or heard or felt. A description would never have the potential to kill you. A description of an experience could never be that experience.

As he lay on the ground after the fourth shell had pulverised the building before him, as he waited for the dust to settle, as he coughed as he breathed it in, as he kept his hands wrapped tightly round his head in protection from further attack, as he lay there and felt his heart try to hammer a hole right through the wall of his chest, he considered how inaccurate the craft of a writer was. No one could ever describe this in its full horror.

Finally after many uncountable minutes of silence he allowed himself to dare hope that the attack was over. Experimentally he moved his hands and lifted his head, looking around at the devastation. Ducky's truck that had been nearest to the cabin had been blown onto its side, and there was little of the building left. A further scan showed two prone figures in front of him, Ducky and Jimmy, and now the urge to get to them to find out how they were, to help them, was overwhelming, and, despite the possibility of further attack, he pushed himself to his feet, shaking off the debris that had landed on him, ignoring the trickle of blood that ran down his forehead just above one eye. There were aches and twinges indicating possible injury but nothing serious, nothing to stop him stumbling forward to reach his friends, because he had to know if they were alive.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs removed his jacket and shirt, relieved to find that he was wearing a t-shirt underneath. He replaced the jacket before tearing the shirt into pieces, using half to secure the splint, and the rest to form a makeshift sling. He wasn't sure what to make of the injured man's story but he did know one thing. He couldn't leave him here. If he was telling the truth then he was in as much danger from the enemy as Gibbs himself was, and if there was even the slightest truth in his story then Gibbs' code of honour demanded that he could not leave a man behind. If he was lying then he could still make a useful hostage, maybe even provide some intel. Either way Gibbs had to take him.

Gibbs took a little time to check for weapons, securing two from the young woman. He also found a radio, which he threw into the stream. Searching her pack he took what he thought he would find of use and placed everything into one rucksack, including the spare weapons. When he was ready he stepped forward preparing to pick the injured man up.

That was when the cramps hit. The pain in his gut was so severe it doubled him over dropping him to his knees as he breathed heavily against the pain. Wave after wave ripped through him and he bit back a cry. Gradually it eased off to a dull throb and he could finally concentrate on something else.

He pushed himself wearily to his feet. He had to get out of here before the woman woke, before whatever had just happened, happened again. He hefted his subordinate or maybe his prisoner onto his shoulder and headed off into the trees.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	5. Awakenings

Author's note:- sorry as ever for the delays between chapters, between RL and my fickle muse it's been tough. Anyway I hope you enjoy- let me know and thanks for the many kind reviews so far- J

**Chapter 5: Awakenings**

Gibbs set up a punishing pace, knowing that he needed to find a place to go to ground, to gather his thoughts, thoughts that were way too volatile. Part of him recognised that there was something wrong, recognised that the shadows that danced on the edge of his vision were moving too fast to be real. The near claustrophobic crushing anxiety he was feeling went far beyond any evidence of immediate danger. He knew that, or at least the rational part of him that wasn't giving in to the panic knew that. So he should be able to get a better hold of his emotions, should be able to control and temper his reactions.

Dammit! Dammit all to Hell.

He was trained; trained to be better than this. He pushed forward harder, breathing heavily, pounding his feet in an uneven rhythm because of the weight that forced one shoulder lower than the other, one foot down harder than the other. This was no good. He couldn't keep this up.

A near stumble decided it. He shifted the weight on his shoulder and half lowered half dropped his burden to the floor. Pressing him up against the trunk of a tree and sliding him awkwardly down it until Tony was in a slumped sitting position, his back against the rough bark.

Gibbs watched him for a moment, studying the face of the younger man and trying hard to remember something, anything, but he had no recollection of ever meeting him.

So his story was a lie? He should leave him here? Should kill him? Should have killed the girl. She could come after him. She knew he'd taken a prisoner, knew his armaments, could confirm he was alone. Stupid! He should have killed her, should kill him and get out of here. He was lying; he was a liability. He needed to. . .

He pressed his hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes tight shut as he tried to slow and sort through the tumble of thoughts.

No! His head gave a slight involuntary shake; he couldn't act on half formed paranoid thoughts. He had no memory of the recent past, didn't know why he was here, or even accurately where here was. So he couldn't be sure, couldn't know, couldn't act, unless. . .until. .

He opened his eyes to see blue ones staring back at him

NCISNCIS

McGee saw the small signs of movement before he reached Ducky's side and an immense sense of relief swept through him. Just knowing that Ducky was still alive; that he wasn't alone in this aftermath of Hell was enough to quell some of the fear. He dropped to his knees in what was little better than a controlled fall and placed his hand on Ducky's shoulder. With a slight moan the older man responded to his touch turning and lifting his head.

"Timothy?" Ducky blinked twice to bring McGee into some sort of fuzzy focus. His glasses had been knocked off so fuzzy was as good as it was going to get.

"Yeah," the answer came out as a barely recognisable rasp. McGee coughed, swallowed and tried again. "Yeah Ducky it's me, are you hurt?"

Ducky considered for a moment as he tried to take stock of how he was feeling. "I believe I may have a number of cuts and contusions but I don't believe there is anything serious. If you could help me. . .?" He held out his arm.

McGee obligingly gripped him at the elbow and at the shoulder and began to help him to sit up. He stopped abruptly as the doctor gave a sharp yelp, attempting to just hold the older man steady as his face creased in pain. "Ducky?"

Ducky took as deep a breath as he could manage and nodded. "I'm OK, just. . ." and then he was pulling on McGee's arm again as he brought himself to a sitting position. He took another breath. "I believe I may have underestimated the bruising to my ribs. In fact it feels like a costochondral separation. I had one before, back in '72. It was when I was in Central Africa and we. . .

"Ducky," McGee interrupted, pulling the doctor back from his memories.

Ducky redirected his fuzzy focus. "Yes, yes you're right of course time for me to tell you later. Now what about you? Are you injured?"

"I'm. . .I'll be OK," McGee tried to keep the shakiness out of his tone, "But. . ." his gaze had drifted to the prone figure still a few feet away and Ducky's gaze followed his. He didn't need to say any more.

"Mr Palmer!" Ducky exclaimed. Moving now with an energy that belied his years as he pushed himself painfully to standing. McGee scrabbled across the ground a little before rising himself and handing Ducky the glasses he had just retrieved. One of the lenses had a crack clean across it but it was better than nothing.

"Thank you," Ducky said putting them on as he took shaky steps towards his fallen subordinate. It was immediately obvious that the young man's injuries were more severe. Unlike Ducky who was waiting until he reached the building, Palmer had already secured the hood and mask of the hazmat suit, the front plate of which was now blackened and deformed from where the searing heat had caused it to melt. In two other places the suit had been torn through by sharp fragments, and blood was oozing onto the front. Ducky dropped to his knees, awkwardly unzipping and shrugging his arm and shoulders out of the top of his own suit, discarding the oxygen cylinder at the same time so he would be free to work.

He rubbed at the blackened faceplate but it was too charred to tell him anything and the first thing he needed to determine was proof of life. So he switched to trying to pull down the welded zip so that he could feel for a pulse. "Help me," he said and McGee's efforts joined his. Between them they got the suit open far enough for the doctor to get his hand in to press against Palmer's throat.

Ducky looked up, meeting McGee's gaze. "See if you can find my bag and then try to get us an ambulance down here."

McGee let out a relieved sigh and nodded, scrambling up and stumbling towards the overturned ME van.

NCISNCIS

"We need to move," Gibbs stated abruptly, not giving the younger man time to do more than blink. "You need to move."

"I don't think. . . ." Tony began, intending to try some sort of stall while he got his head around exactly what he was feeling and what had happened, or just tried to form some semblance of coherent thought through the pain and fuzziness, but Gibbs dropped to one knee beside him his face inches from Tony's own.

"No. You do not think." Gibbs tone was soft, dangerous. It was the sort of tone he used when he wanted men to crumble, when he wanted orders followed without question. Tony had been on the receiving end of it many times but this was the first time that he actually felt the full effect, because this time he believed that Gibbs would hurt him if he didn't comply. "You do as I say when I say it or I might just decide that you're a liability and leave you here." He leaned back far enough to bring a handgun up between them, sliding the mechanism to put a bullet in the chamber. "You understand soldier?"

Tony swallowed and gave a slight nod, unable to take his eyes off the gun barrel between them. Would Gibbs really shoot him? He looked into the man's eyes. Hell yes, of course he would. He didn't know him, thought he might be dangerous, and in those circumstances Gibbs would do what he needed to do.

Gibbs clicked the safety back on, satisfied that his message had hit home, and tucked the gun away again. "Whoever fired those shells could be looking for us. We need to move, now." He pushed himself to standing and held his hand out to Tony.

If Tony had been a hundred per cent fit he might have been tempted to try something. Gibbs offering his hand to help him stand was probably one of the best chances he would get, but even then, fully fit and prepared to fight low and dirty he wouldn't have given himself better than 50-50 odds. In his current state he might as well just shoot himself and save Gibbs the time. So Tony took the proffered hand with his good one and let Gibbs to pull him to standing, the movement allowing him to feel all of the aches of bruised ribs from his fall, not to mention sending shooting pains through his broken arm. He drew in a couple of deep breaths against the pain and allowed the shifting world to right itself. For now all he could do was go with Gibbs and hopefully use his powers of persuasion to get him back.

Gibbs gave him a moment while he adjusted his backpack, then he was looking at him again. "Ok you follow me. You drop too far behind- I shoot you. You try anything – I shoot you. I suspect that you're trying anything. . ."

"Yeah I got it. You shoot me," Tony tried his best to keep his tone light in spite of the threats. "Look I'm not going to try anything. I'm on your side. We need to get out of this together."

Gibbs eyed him skeptically. "We'll see," he stated before turning and heading off into the trees.

With a sigh Tony took a grip of his injured arm with his good one, attempting to hold it as still as possible across his body and set off after him.

NCISNCIS

Ziva moaned as she rolled over on the grass, drawing in deep breaths of air in reaction to the memory of being suffocated. Slowly the grayness in her vision receded as she pushed herself up. Stretching her back and neck muscles out as she moved. Her head still felt fuzzy. She had the mental equivalent of buzzing in her thoughts as words refused to form in any of the many languages she could speak. She crossed her legs resting her head in her hands for a moment as she willed the memories to form. What had happened? Gibbs! She drew in a deep breath. Tony! Another sharp gasp, and then she was scanning the shallow valley she was in stream, grass, trees, no other signs of life at least none bigger than insects.

Damn! Gibbs had taken Tony.

She stood, moving across the ground rapidly as she took in her discarded pack and the scattered remains of the contents. She swore in at least three of the languages she spoke, and then a couple more times when she found the broken radios.

Now it was decision time. Go back to the cabin; find out what had happened to Ducky, McGee and Palmer. Find a radio so she could report what had happened and get back up, or go after Gibbs and Tony alone.

It was then that she heard them. Slight noises that didn't fit with the natural background of where she was, and she moved. Training and instinct took over, something telling her that, whoever was approaching, it wasn't would be rescuers, and even if it were she could let them see her only when she was sure it was safe, but it wasn't safe. Ziva had barely had time to conceal herself when the men appeared along the top of the drop-off. It was a four-man team dressed entirely in black armed with semi- automatic rifles.

"There's something down here," one of them shouted, drawing the attention of the others. "Looks like one of them fell."

The four men scrambled down the bank and Ziva shrank further into the foliage. If they spotted her it was not good odds.

The men spread out searching the area as Ziva had only moments before. One of them picked up the smashed radios and turned to another man. "You wanted proof that one of them touched it." He said moving to show him the shattered pieces. "If him dropping one of his own and disappearing into the woods wasn't enough, looks like he took out his friend's radios too."

"It would fit the profile," the second man agreed. "Starts with paranoid delusions."

A third man joined the first two. "Then gentleman we had better find him and quickly- Every trace must be eliminated." He looked around. "Do we have any idea which way they went?"

The first man gestured with his rifle. "Trail leads off that way."

It was the third man who seemed to give the orders. "Then lets move out."

Ziva waited long enough for them to get out of sight before scrambling from her cover. There was no choice now. She could not take on four heavily armed men with no weapons. She needed to get help. Scrambling up the bank she set off at a run.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	6. Alone together

Author's note: Apologies to all of those who thought I had abandoned this story. You will probably have to read it again to remember where I am up to. It was always my intention to finish it. If you read any of my other stories under my pseudonyms you will know that personal tragedy stopped me writing for a while, but I am writing again and will finish this. Gosh it's so old Jenny is still director! Anyway I hope some of you will still read and comment. Any encouragement is greatly appreciated. J

**Chapter 6**

Ducky didn't look up when McGee dropped his black bag next to him, but there was a quiet 'thank you' as he quickly scanned its contents, retrieving the scissors that he needed to cut the damaged suit away. "OK Jimmy let's see what you've done to yourself," he said, the Scottish brogue coming through more strongly than McGee remembered hearing it before. That and the use of his assistant's first name spoke more of Ducky's anxiety than the slight strain in his tone.

McGee repositioned himself on Palmer's opposite side. "What can I do?" he asked, needing a task, needing to stay focussed almost as much as he genuinely needed to assist, because Jimmy was one of them, one of the team and the only one who at that moment he could offer any meaningful help to.

"Pull this away as I cut." Ducky deftly sliced through the thick hazmat suit as he spoke. "Gently," he added unnecessarily. McGee was being as gentle as he could be allowing for the slight shake to his hand. Ducky caught it and paused for a moment to give McGee another quick scan before he satisfied himself that McGee's own injuries could indeed wait. He refocused on Palmer cutting enough material to allow the face mask to be removed. He drew in a quick breath as the plastic was pulled away, afraid for a moment what he might find underneath. In his career he had seen just about every level of burn that it was possible to have and most of the people he saw burns on were past caring about the disfigurement, but he had no intention of allowing Jimmy to end up on his table, and therefore any level of damage on one so young would be bad.

He made no attempt to hide the sigh of relief, in fact he deliberately made it perfectly audible as the charred plastic fell back to reveal only reddened skin, no full thickness burns, not even any blistering. The faceplate had done a job that it was never designed for and had protected Jimmy from what would certainly have been scarring if not fatal injuries, but it was not the suit itself, Ducky's scientific mind had already assigned the remarkable protection to the size of the plastic headgear, rather than it's physical properties, as he now explained to the unconscious young man. "You, Mr Palmer have been remarkably lucky, not that any of us," he made a gesture to encompass the three of them, "could be described as lucky since we have clearly been caught in a rocket attack on the very building we are meant to be examining as a crime scene, but," all of the time he was speaking he was working, cutting more and more of the charred suit away from his young assistant, avoiding for the moment the clear pieces of shrapnel that were the more obvious sites of injury, those he knew about, could deal with, it was the unknown that could cause the young man problems. "It could have been much worse," he continued, "fortunately the helmet section of the suit, trapped a substantial layer of air between you and the heat of the explosion; its insulating effect was enough to protect you from more serious injury, the burns to your face and neck will cause some discomfort but. . ." Ducky paused not willing to let himself think again how much worse it could have been, besides he needed to move on to the more serious injuries. "A rubber suit is however no defence against ballistic objects as I'm sure Miss Scuito will be able to explain in far more detail than I. . .Can you just hold this still while I cut," Ducky directed the comment at McGee who had, up to now, just been following in Ducky's wake, gently removing what Ducky cut away.

McGee nodded and moved his hands to where Ducky indicated, there was something very reassuring about listening to Ducky's rambling explanations, using ten words where one would do, talking to those who could not hear him, much less respond as though they were participating fully in the conversations. It did more than anything else could to reassure McGee that Palmer would be all right, that Ducky felt he could handle things. It was when Ducky dropped into short clear instructions or worse yet stopped talking, then it was time to really worry. Still it wouldn't hurt to ask. "Is he going to be all right?"

"There's nothing I can see that's immediately life threatening," Ducky met his gaze while he spoke before casting his eyes to the devastation all around them, "but I think we could be on our own for a while."

McGee let his own gaze follow Ducky's. He nodded once "They won't send in ambulances until they're sure there's no risk of further attack."

Ducky looked down again at Jimmy. "I can manage on my own to get him stabilised if you want to see if you can find out how long they think it will take to secure the area and get to us." The comment was meant to sound casual but the words instead screamed- 'go- find out how long'

"If you're sure?" McGee was still reluctant to move, trying to re-establish contact with the Director, or Abby or anyone outside their own little private war zone should and would be a priority, but only if neither of his friends needed him for anything else, because in the here and now all they had was each other.

Ducky nodded again. "I'll get him stable, then I'll need your help to move him onto a stretcher."

McGee pushed himself shakily to his feet and started to move away.

"Timothy," Ducky was staring at him as he turned back, "when I'm done with him I still need to check you out."

"I'm fine," McGee responded automatically.

"You know," Ducky stated, "There are some things that you really should not learn from Gibbs, and stoic refusal to accept medical help when offered is one of them." Without waiting for a response from McGee he turned his attention back to Palmer.

NCISNCIS

Tony found it hard to keep up with Gibbs at the best of times, broken arm, bruised back, pounding headache and difficulty breathing through a nose still blocked with blood definitely did not constitute the best of times, but Tony did at least have several incentives that outweighed his normal need to impress his boss. Gibbs threat to shoot him coupled with his own desperate need to keep his confused amnesiac friend and mentor firmly in his sights were both powerful reasons for him to push through the pain and discomfort, besides Gibbs was also off his usual pace, a further indication if Tony had needed any, and he didn't, that there was something seriously wrong here. The drug, whatever it was, was starting to have physical as well as mental effects but Tony didn't realise how severe until Gibbs stopped about ten yards in front of him and doubled over, letting out a small sound halfway between a grunt and a whimper, the gun dropping from his fingers.

"Gibbs!" the cry escaped as Tony moved forward rapidly, ducking down as he got in front of Gibbs stricken form, trying desperately to get a look at Gibbs face; he reached out with his good hand, grabbing Gibbs' upper arm trying to steady the older man, as he watched Gibbs ride out the waves of agony.

Tony cursed his injuries, particularly the painful and ultimately useless broken arm, not only was it restricting his movement and at times stealing his focus, more importantly it was a major obstacle to doing anything to help his stricken boss, about all he could do was provide a little balance to stop Gibbs from keeling over and offer sympathy for Gibbs' obvious suffering, and Gibbs didn't have any time for sympathy. If he couldn't do anything practical then he might as well not be there.

Tony cursed; the problem with Gibbs was that he was always right.

"You don't look good," Tony offered as Gibb's pain finally seemed to ease and the older man looked up at him.

"You always this observant?" Gibbs asked sarcastically, a slight breathlessness still tingeing his words.

"Pretty much," Tony stated. "It's part of why you keep me around."

"I keep you around to state the obvious?"

"Among other things," Tony confirmed.

Gibbs reached down and picked up the gun, then looked back at Tony as he slowly pushed himself upright. "You didn't try to take it?" Gibbs questioned, indicating the weapon in his hand.

"Guess not," Tony agreed.

"Stupid," Gibbs stated, "major tactical error."

"Maybe," Tony said holding Gibbs gaze, "Maybe not, guess we'll find out."

Gibbs studied the younger man for a moment, beginning to believe more and more that maybe they did work together; there was something very familiar in the interaction, something very. . . and maybe he's just a very skilled conman; enemy agents are good at gaining your trust so they can turn on you, maybe he. . . "We should get moving," Gibbs stated, scanning the trees behind Tony. "We don't know who or what's behind us."

Tony sighed, for a moment there he thought he'd seen something, thought he'd made a connection with the Gibb's he knew but now. . . "Which way," he asked, hoping for a moment that Gibbs would have allowed the pain to disorient him, that they might head back towards the cabin.

Gibb's gestured with his gun, No, not even drugs, amnesia and serious pain could mess with Gibbs' sense of direction.

Tony looked in the direction indicated. "Good choice," he stated and started moving.

Gibbs didn't move ahead this time, instead he fell into step beside him.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	7. They will be all right won't they?

Author's note:- Just to remind you I started writing this when Jenny had just come in as Director and so that's when it is set in my head. Consequently she and Abby don't really know each other yet. I need to put that in so you'll understand the context of the first part of this chapter. Thank you so much to all of those who continue to support me. I apologise for the extended delay in posting this next chapter but as those of you who read my other stories know I was involved in a car accident with a truck a few weeks ago- thankfully I'm fine apart from whiplash but it has caused some major logistical problems- finding a new car etc. Anyway barring any further problems I hope to post the next part much quicker. Hope you enjoy- J

**Chapter 7**

"Hello Director Shepherd?" Abby barely waited for the reply.

"Yes, this. . ."

"This is Abby, that is Miss Scuito, that is I. . I work in the lab, that is. . "

"I'm well aware of who you are," Jenny said patiently, recognising the agitation from the young forensic specialist.

"Oh, ok, of course, why wouldn't you. . .Ok, I need to talk to you or to someone because there's a . . It's Gibbs. . ." Abby was speaking so quickly that her words were practically running into each other. "That is Special Agent Gibbs and his team, I've been trying to contact them and I can't get an answer from Gibbs, or Tony. That is Agent Dinozzo, or McGee, not even Ziva," at this point she seemed to give up on the more formal titles "and all of. . ."

"Miss Scuito," Director Shepherd tried to interrupt Abby's ongoing tirade but to no avail, it was as if she hadn't spoken, or at least Abby hadn't heard her.

"Their phones have signals or at least had signals, until someone jammed the cell phone tower, and that's worrying too because who would. . .? and even Ducky, that's Dr Mallard's phone isn't picking up because I tried that too, before the jamming of course because there wouldn't be much point after the jamming because then it would be jammed and even if he wanted to answer he wouldn't be getting the signal, but he didn't answer even when he could get a signal and that means there was a problem even before then, because they wouldn't all ignore, I mean even if they were busy they wouldn't all. . . and they were all meant to be together and"

"Miss Scuito," Jenny tried again with the same effect, none.

"Then I checked the satellite images of the area and the cabin that they're supposed to be checking out- it's gone; it's just not there any more, and it looks like. . ."

"Abby!" Jenny finally raised her voice to a shout, ignoring the strange looks she got from the agents and marines she was with. It was enough to stop Abby's agitated rambling. "Miss Scuito," she said more calmly, when it was clear she had finally gained Abby's attention. "We are well aware of the situation."

"You are?" Abby asked "I mean of course you are because you're the director so you should know what's going on right? Right," Abby answered her own question. "That's good, so what's going on I mean are Gibbs and. . I mean are they Ok? What happened? Why. . .?"

Jenny almost gave a huge sigh, wishing that she had more answers than she did, but she managed to control it. "We don't know exactly what happened but we have a tactical group and a marine contingent here and we are going to get Agent Gibbs and his team out of whatever situation they find themselves in."

"Situation?" Abby asked, "Yes it is a situation because the cabin is toast I mean splinters of wood small enough to be used for matchsticks and. . ."

"Abby," Director Shepherd said firmly reminding herself that Gibb's had told her that this young woman was a certified genius as well as the best forensic specialist he'd ever worked with and Gibbs was not a man to offer praise lightly, in fact he was not one to offer praise at all. He'd also told her that Abby Scuito had her own idiosyncrasies that you just had to put up with. "There are some things I," the briefest of pauses, "that Agent Gibbs and his team need you to do to help them." You didn't get to be Director of NCIS without a certain ability to understand the best way to focus and motivate people. It was a trick she in part had learned from Gibbs although he didn't try nearly as much as he should unless he thought the people were worth it.

"Anything," Abby said, relieved by the Director's confident tone.

"Do you have a live satellite feed of the area of the cabin?"

"Yes," Abby stated,

The director wasn't going to ask Abby how she'd pulled that off, she knew that she could get that feed herself easily enough by going through channels, but that would take time and such permissions were well above Abby's pay grade. Still if she didn't ask. . . "Good, I'll put someone on in a minute and you can direct the feed to us. Secondly I want you to find out how that cell tower is being blocked and see if you can come up with a way of unblocking it."

"No problem," Abby stated. "Director?"

"Yes,"

"Are Gibbs and his team going to be all right?"

Jenny sighed, "We'll do everything we can to make sure that they are."

"Yes we will," Abby echoed.

NCISNCISNCIS

McGee moved back across to where Ducky still worked on Palmer, carefully treatinghis injuries, for the moment he wasn't removing the larger pieces of debris, ideally that was a job for a nice sterile operating theatre, not the middle of a clearing in the aftermath of a rocket attack, not that Ducky hadn't done more than his fair share of field medicine, and he could expound on those experiences at great length, if he had a suitable audience, or even if he didn't, but it had been a long time ago and there were far better options available in modern medicine. No, better to leave the shrapnel to be removed in totally sanitary conditions, not to mention with a full trained theatre staff to assist in case of complications, unless it became more dangerous to leave it than to take it out. He looked up at the approaching agent not liking the frown on the young man's face.

"Problem?" Ducky asked.

McGee nodded. "No signal, anywhere, and I managed to find two different cell phones to check." He looked up in the direction of the cell tower that they had driven past on their way into the valley. This wasn't far enough away from civilisation and more importantly from Washington DC for it not to have good coverage, one the advantages of working in and around the country's capital there were very few areas without good cell coverage, even in the wilderness, because heaven forbid one of the politicians, diplomats,or their staff be unreachable. There was no reason why McGee shouldn't be able to get a signal now unless something had been done to deliberately stop it. McGee stared at the woodpile that was all that remained of the cabin "The signal's being blocked or they took out the cell tower when they hit the cabin," he stated trying to sound less scared than he actually was and outgunned, injured, friends missing and out of contact with any form of help, that was pretty scared. This was the sort of situation where even Gibbs would admit that if you weren't scared you were either crazy or a fool and McGee was neither.

Ducky was also neither and he recognized the younger man's fear. "I don't know about you but I'm feeling a little too exposed right now." He emphasised his point by scanning the devastation around them, before looking back at his younger friend. "We should try to get to some cover." he suggested, knowing that it was a good idea both from apractical point of view andbecause the action would provide both of them with a distraction from their predicament. "If you could help me?"

McGee moved willingly to help.

NCISNCIS

The third time Tony stumbled Gibbs decided that the younger man had had enough. He had tried to keep up, was clearly pushing himself well beyond what Gibb's would have put down as his endurance, and had no intention of stopping until his body quite literally gave out on him. Gibbs was already impressed and he wasn't easily impressed, but allowing the kid to push himself to the point where he fell over would achieve nothing for either of them. He had already proved that he was stronger than he looked and he hadn't tried to take advantage of Gibbs' earlier weakness, everything was pointing towards him telling the truth. They worked together and if that was true there was all the more reason for Gibbs to stop him from hurting himself any further.

But there was something else, another reason why Gibbs knew that he had to stop and help Tony take care of his wounds, another reason why he had to help him. Gibbs had no memory of why but he felt strongly protective of the younger man. "OK that's enough we need to take a break," he said, catching Tony's good arm before the stumble sent him flat on his face.

Tony turned to look at him "Boss?" he questioned before he could stop himself. Damn that was a rookie slip, then again the way he was feeling he was kinda surprised that he was able to utter anything even vaguely coherent. He met Gibbs gaze.

Gibbs eyes narrowed. "You said that earlier," back when they'd first met, or at least the first time he remembered them meeting. "Not sir, you didn't address me by my rank. You called me 'boss' why?"

Damn! He'd gotten away with it earlier, had managed to fit into Gibbs' new world view, no make that old world view, these memories were from Gibbs' past, that's where he thought he was still in the military. Tony knew that he now had to make a fast decision, which would keep Gibbs on his side, feed least into the paranoid delusions. Did he come clean, tell him what was really going on or continue trying to play a part in Gibbs' past life "I. . ." He was saved from having to decide what to say by a dizzy spell that had him wavering on his feet; by the time he was back Gibbs was already supporting him towards a large old tree.

"OK, let's get you sitting down before you fall down again," Gibbs stated as they walked, well Gibbs walked Tony stumbled, "And then you can explain to me why you just called me boss."

Damn! Why couldn't an amnesiac Gibbs at least have poor observational skills or a bad memory! Tony giggled at his own joke amnesiac, bad memory, that was. . .Damn, that wasn't funny even by Tony's own rather questionable standards and the fact that he was giggling at his own thoughts, that was a bad sign, a very bad sign.

Tony gratefully allowed himself to be lowered down to rest against the tree. His eyes were closed but he didn't realise it until a bottle pressed against his lips and there was a soft command to "drink." He opened his eyes at the same time as his mouth allowing the cooling liquid to be poured in. He noticed Gibbs eyes had lost the spark of danger they'd had last time they'd spoken in this position; now they only held concern. Tony raised his good hand to help support the bottle and Gibbs let him take it from him.

Gibbs gave him time to drink about half of the bottle. "Better?" He asked.

Tony gave a slight nod, anything more risked a return of the dizziness. "Much, thanks."

"OK," Gibbs said, "I think it's time you filled me in on exactly what you know and what you and I are doing here."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


End file.
